Mirror, Mirror, on the Wall
by Last Girl Standing
Summary: Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who's the biggest fool of all? Must be the one who can't stop crying, or the one who keeps on trying. Even a hero needs to cry. Thalia-centric. Slight Thuke. Oneshot


**summary: Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who's the biggest fool of all? Must be the one who can't stop crying, or the one who keeps on trying. Even a hero needs to cry. Thalia-centric. Slight Thuke.**

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><p>She was alone again.<p>

The walls in the Zeus Cabin seemed to echo her thoughts, lonely and nervous, and full of _I can't believe he did this_'s and _It might be me. I might have to kill him_'s. She was all alone again, but this time there wasn't Annabeth or-or- or _Luke _there with her. As everyone who came to visit her, from a bleating Grover, to wise Chiron, to quirky Percy, and surprised Annabeth, she wanted one person next to her, that one person who couldn't be.

"Why?" She whispers, and it echos endlessly, never to be answered because there's no one who can answer it, only her and the silent white walls. "Why?"

A tear escapes her right eye, and she banishes immediately- but it's too late. Her dam has broken, and she's had enough. She can only take so much, you know. She's only human- except she's not, and that's why she's here, isn't it? She's only half human, half god, but not even that godly DNA could protect her now, just make it worse.

"You _fool_." She whispers. "You bloody _idiot."_ Her voice was coarse, and tears are streaming down her face like a waterfall, as everything snaps inside of her. She can't keep trying to pretend that this was a plot to make her get better, or a dream, a dream and she's going to wake up with seven year old Annabeth at her bedside, and Luke without the scar they say he has now there, too.

She looks at the mirror on the wall and smiles bitterly, tracing the girl in the mirror's features. "Mirror, mirror, on the wall," she recites, eyes boring coldly in to the girl in the mirrror's replica. "Who's the biggest fool of all?" The tears won't stop falling, like she won't stop trying to pretend that this is a dream. "Must be the one who can't stop crying," Her fingers find the tear tracks that cover her cheeks. "Or is it the one who keeps on trying?" she laughs bitterly, mirthlessly.

"Either way, it's me." She says, and says it with such contempt because she knows she's a fool, and she knows it's foolish to hold on and keep onn trying, but she can't let go, no matter how hard she tries- and, oh, _she tries._

She stares at the bed, the empty one, the one that just pushes her loneliness back on to her, and she falls in it. Even heroes have to cry, and this one's tears are long overdue. They drip from her eyes, in the same, fast, pace. _Drip, drip, drip._

"I'm just a fool, aren't I?" She asks, her voice hoarse and weary, in a tired tone no 15 year old should be able to use, one that shows the tiredness and sadness that someone who's seen and learned terrible things over so long and just wants to leave; to go or to find a home, somewhere they can lie and act like they never heard the news, never saw the sights, use.

She wants to run and find him, but she doesn't know what she'd do. Maybe she'd scream herself coarse, swear words flying, if she could only unstick her tongue from her mouth. Maybe she'd slap him, leave a big red mark on his cheek, her hand throbbing. Maybe, just maybe, she'd kiss him, twist her fingers in his shirt, feel his lips on her own and the cloth in her fingertips.

She's scared.

So she doesn't run to find him, to kiss him or to slap him or to scream.

She's too much of a coward, and she know that, no matter how many times someone says she's brave, she'll think, _I'm a coward_ a million times more.

She stands up.

"I'll go find him," she swears, determination in her eyes. "I- I- oh, forget it."

She sits back down.

Her head falls into her hands. _"I will not cry," _she promises, and it becomes a lie a second later. She's fighting a losing battle, she knows this, and she wont stop fighting.

The tears drip onto the ground, _splash, splash, splash._

She glances at the girl in the mirror, the girl who's lost her everythings, who's life was picked up, shaken, and thrown into a million pieces with no one to reassemble all the shattered pieces of a broken puzzle called Thalia.

She sobs because she knows she's alone, with the exception of the girl in the mirror, who'll never tell because she's sobbing and in shambles, too. So the girl in the mirror cries with her, sobs with her, looks hopelessly at all the little pieces with her, and doesn't tell a soul about any of it. It's their little secret to use and play with, though neither want to remember it.

"Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who's the biggest fool of all?" she asks. "Is it me?"

Nothing responds.

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><p><strong>Okay, first of all, I hate Thuke, but it was necessary. <strong>

**Second of all, I found the quote on photobucket, which was 'Mirror mirror on the wall, who's the biggest fool of all? Must be the one who can't stop crying, or the one who keeps on trying?'.**

**Third, it's ten thirty at night here in Good Ol California, and this is unbetaed so, if it's crap, I apologize.**

**Fourth of all, R&R?**


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